


with them indiana boys (on them indiana nights)

by ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: The thing is, when Billy first saw Steve Harrington, he knew.He grew up knowing.  It was hard not to, with all of those hormones and instincts running through his fucking veins.  He knew, one day, he’d run across someone that smelled so right, so fucking perfect that he’d want nothing more than to bury his face against their scent gland and breathe in until the smell becomes a taste becomes a sensation becomes--Well.  The thing is, he’s always known.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 33
Kudos: 718
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	with them indiana boys (on them indiana nights)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceose/gifts).



> To my giftee: I hope you enjoy this and I'm sorry if it's not up to my usual specs. I've been very sick for what seems like a month. I did my best and wrote something I hope fills a lot of your requests!
> 
> See notes at the end on the ABO dynamics.

The thing is, when Billy first saw Steve Harrington, he knew. 

He grew up  _ knowing.  _ It was hard not to, with all of those hormones and instincts running through his fucking veins. He knew, one day, he’d run across someone that smelled so right, so fucking  _ perfect _ that he’d want nothing more than to bury his face against their scent gland and breathe in until the smell becomes a taste becomes a  _ sensation _ becomes--

Well. The thing is, he’s always known. 

But seeing Steve Harrington, smelling him,  _ knowing  _ him. It’s somehow everything he ever hoped for and nothing he ever wanted. 

That’s the excuse he gives himself for the way he acts. The way he fucking…  _ peacocks _ around, throws the fact that he’s an  _ alpha _ \--  _ the alpha,  _ to end all alphas-- and then tries to beat the submission out of Steve on a night when he’s seeing livid, horrible, awful red. 

Because Steve is supposed to submit. He’s  _ supposed _ to tilt his head over, to roll belly up, to give him what he wants when he wants it. 

But that’s not the kind of omega Steve Harrington is. 

Which is the only reason Billy knows that Steve Harrington is  _ his.  _ It’s the only reason he knows that this omega, this man sprawled out on a deck chair in the middle of summer while Billy looks out across the pool, is unequivocally  _ his _ omega. 

He knew. From the moment he saw him. Smelled him. Touched him. 

And yet. 

Steve Harrington doesn’t seem to  _ know _ that he’s Billy’s. 

***

The first time Steve shows up at the pool when Billy’s working, he ignores him. Blatantly doesn’t look up at where Billy is sitting on the stand, looking out across the water, what little power in his hands making him headstrong and stupid. It gets right under Billy’s skin. 

He does the same the second. And the third. 

He doesn’t want to say he’s  _ pining,  _ but he’s definitely pining. Max sniffed him that morning and told him as much-- that he was  _ rank _ with it-- putrid, saccharine  _ pining.  _

He hates it just about as much as he hates watching Steve pal up to Max and her little loser friends. Doting on them, as if they were  _ pack, _ and okay. Yeah. To Steve, apparently, that  _ is _ his pack. Hates watching the way Steve buys them otter pops and splashes water at them in the pool. Hates watching the way Steve doesn’t watch him at all. Hates them in a way that he doesn’t hate them-- because he wants, in a quiet and hushed way that he’d never admit out loud, to be part of it. 

Desperately. 

***

Except--  _ Except _ there’s the girl. The new girl.  _ Robin.  _

She shows up with Steve on the fourth time. Not a weekend-- never a weekend because Steve works weekends and Billy kind of fucking  _ hates _ that he knows that-- but on a Wednesday in the middle of the week. She’s got an easy arm slung over his shoulders, like he isn’t a whole head taller than her, and Billy can smell the beta on her from a mile away. 

It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve’s last steady romance was with a beta chick. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he hadn’t spotted the goddamn matching bead bracelets on their wrists.

Courting gifts. 

And as the visits go by, as the days roll over, there are  _ more.  _ A pair of dinky looking shades she places on his face. The sunscreen she passes him when he starts to get pink. The snacks she pulls out of the bucket bag covered in pins and peeling stickers for him and for the rest of his little ragtag group. 

Proving she can provide. Proving she can take care of him. Give him what he needs. 

It makes Billy’s hackles rise. Makes him want to bear his teeth and snarl. That a mere  _ beta _ could try and give  _ his omega _ what he needs when Billy is  _ right there.  _

***

“You’re pathetic,” Max tells him one day, lips blue around an otter pop, and he lets her get away with leaning against the chipping white paint of the lifeguard stand because she’s the only person Billy can stand in this tiny little town. 

Billy frowns down at her. “Excuse me?” 

Max peeks up at him from behind sunshine yellow glasses that practically dwarf her face, red braids a mess from hopping in and out of the pool, freckles smattered across her face brought out further by so much time in the Indiana sun. “You’re pathetic. It’s ridiculous, you sitting up here, making puppy eyes at him.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,  _ Maxine,”  _ he bites, half a second from blowing his whistle in her face just to get her to  _ go away.  _

“Pretty sure I do,” she shrugs, sucking at her otter pop. “Y’know, pretty sure he’d forgive you if you apologized.” 

That’s the worst part of living with another little alpha in the making. His dad’s a beta, always trying to prove he’s tough. His stepmom’s not much better. But Max-- Max is just like him. Has all the instincts and the sensitive nose-- she  _ knows _ what’s going on. Can scent it on him-- the pining and the want and the frustration-- and does little more than mock him for it. 

Just another alpha being lead around by the pull of his goddamn knot. 

“Apologized for what?” Billy asks, but they both know what. 

They both know about that night in November. About the way he’d let the animal in him take over. About how it had been Max that had put him back in his place. Brought him out of it. 

He’s scared, sometimes, by how easily his brain can just checkout. Go offline. By how  _ easy _ it is to lean into instinct and nothing else. 

Lets himself remember, sometimes, the last time he’d let it happen before they left California.

Max’s nose wrinkles up. “You’d be a  _ terrible _ alpha.” 

She walks away after that, flip flops snapping against her heels. It makes something cold and uncomfortable settle into his stomach as she walks away like she  _ hadn’t  _ just thrown the worst insult she could right in his face. 

***

It’s the end of June before he finally gets his shit together. 

An entire month and a half of watching Steve come to the pool with his pack on days when he’s not slinging ice cream at the mall. An entire month and a half of watching some beta bitch work herself into a permanent position in Steve’s pack. An entire month and half of pining and wanting and craving. 

And it only happens on accident. 

It’s raining. A random summer storm, striking in the middle of the day, clouds rolling in fast and without warning. The kids ditched as soon as the thunder struck, rolling off on bikes with big grins on their faces, and most of the rest of the pool-goers followed suit quickly after. 

Billy’s soaked from pulling the cover over the pool with Heather. He’s toweling off under the awning at the entrance, watching cars pull away from the dirt and gravel lot, humidity curling his damp hair into tight ringlets that friz up and make his jaw clench. Heather disappeared into the women’s locker room to clear everyone out-- and Steve Harrington is standing under the awning in nothing but bright blue swim trunks and a bucket bag with buttons and peeling stickers that isn’t his. 

He’s shivering. There’s a towel in his hand that’s drenched. He doesn’t look like he brought anything else with him. 

His omega is  _ stupid.  _ But that’s kinda why Billy likes him so fucking much. 

“Harrington,” he says, gruff, and tosses his towel at him when he blinks over; Steve barely catches it, has to drop both his sodden towel and Robin’s clunky, too-punk-for-school bag to the ground in order to do it, but smiles bright as he wraps it around himself. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, wiping his face off on worn cotton and draping it around his shoulders.

He doesn’t even pause to sniff it. Doesn’t inhale the way Billy would’ve at touching anything Steve did. It makes Billy shift on his feet. Makes him bite on the inside of his cheek. 

“Didn’t you bring any clothes?” he asks. 

“Nah,” Steve huffs, scrubbing the towel through his hair until it sticks up. “Was just gonna head straight home after. The leather seats can handle a little bit of water.” 

He gestures out into the deluge to one of the only cars left in the lot. The BMW is getting pounded, rain practically sideways now, and Billy wants to sneer. 

“It’ll crack eventually,” Billy warns him. “Take better care of your shit.” 

Steve blinks at him again. Pauses, Billy’s towel still draped over his shoulders, and Billy wants to smother him. 

“I take care of my stuff just fine, thanks,” Steve bites back, eyes narrowing. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do it.” 

Right. Because Steve isn’t like any of the omegas he’s known before. He doesn't  _ need _ an alpha to tell him what to do. Doesn’t need an alpha to take care of him. 

Billy thinks it must be something in the water out here. Nothing is ever how it  _ should  _ be. Instead of the sweet, simpering omegas Billy was raised hearing stories about, they’re grown tall and hard as steel in Indiana. Unbending. Unbreakable. 

It makes Billy’s palms itch. 

“Right,” Billy says. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve huffs, still wiping himself down, and Billy wants to inch closer-- wants to see if he can smell himself on Steve’s skin through the rain water and chlorine. “Just don’t need some alpha asshole telling me what to do.” 

“Don’t you?” Billy asks before he can stop himself. 

When Steve looks at him again, there’s something dark and dangerous in his eyes. It makes Billy’s breath stall in his chest. It makes him want to bare his throat. 

“No,” Steve says. “I don’t.” 

Billy’s about to ask  _ why.  _ He’s about to open his big, dumb mouth and ask why in the world Steve doesn’t want everything handed to him on a fucking platter the way he should. Why he doesn’t just fucking  _ submit _ \--

But the door to the women’s locker room clatters open, and Heather is stepping out with Robin, their cheeks flush as they laugh. Billy blinks at the pair of them. So does Steve. 

“Hey, dingus,” Robin smiles at Steve, but her eyes zero in on Billy, and Billy finds himself standing up that much straighter. “Ready to go?” 

“Pizza and shitty movies all night? You know I am.” Steve's smile is lopsided. Sweet. Robin's  _ isn't.  _

Billy could claw her fucking face off. Could rip that smug smirk from her mouth. Could pounce and finish it all in a single second. 

Heather clears her throat. “Sounds like a fun date night.” 

“Oh,” Robin is practically purring as she looks at Heather, slinging her arm up around Steve’s shoulders. “It’s not a date.” 

Billy would be lying if he said that wasn’t a fucking relief to hear. 

But what isn't a relief is the way Robin grins. She's all angel face and shark smile-- Billy would know-- and she plays with the dark hair at the nape of Steve's neck. 

"We should get going," Robin says. 

Steve is already bobbing his head. "We should."

And then they're gone. Out into the rain. Before Billy can offer another word. 

Standing there, with Heather at his side, Billy sighs. 

"Damn," Heather breathes, and he recognizes the tone, the way she says what she does like it's longing incarnate; he's heard it for the last  _ weeks _ , watching Robin as Billy watches Steve. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on  _ that  _ wall."

Billy just grunts. 

***

The second time it happens, Billy's at a party. 

Carol's parents are out of town the entire week of the 4th. The first night they're gone, she's got the entirety of Hawkins High, alum included, showing up on her front patio with kegs in hand. 

Tommy tells him it's because of the carnival the mayor is throwing. Tells him it's because Carol knows she wouldn't get much of a turnout with everyone wasting their change for a chance to makeout on the ferris wheel. Billy believes it, only because there's literally nothing else to do in this hick town. 

That's the only reason Billy is at this party, anyway. That and the fact that Steve Harrington is supposed to be here. 

Billy's been here for an  _ hour _ and hasn't even smelled him yet. But he doesn't want to have to  _ track  _ him. Doesn't want to have to hunt for whispers of that scent, of the tang of rosemary that Steve always leaves in his mouth, through all the sweat and booze of Carol's house.

It's not until he gets tired of Tommy running his mouth that he finally gives in to instinct. 

He prowls the rooms, the halls, sniffing like that might help him navigate the press of warm bodies. Keeps his eyes keen, doesn't even sip at whatever 99.9% alcoholic punch is in his cup, just in case it makes him hazy enough to  _ miss  _ him. 

It's lucky, really, that he does. It always seems like luck, these days. 

Because when he finally finds Steve, it's with Becky Goldstein spilling Steve's drink all down their fronts as she sways too heavily into him. 

Billy is quick to swoop in.  _ Save the day.  _

"Jesus," he says, with a sneer, offering up his full cup as Becky blushes and stammers over apology after apology. "Bet you didn't think that's how you'd be getting your dick wet, tonight."

Steve blinks over at him, with big doe eyes and long lashes, shirt and jeans wet all down the front. Billy would be lying if he said he didn't wanna get on his knees, bury his face in the damp patch at Steve's crotch, and  _ breathe.  _

"Um. Thanks?" Steve frowns.

_ "Shit,"  _ Becky hiccups. "I'm-- sorry, Stevie."

"It's fine," he's quick to say, and Billy wants to snarl and snap his teeth at her when she tries to use her shirt sleeve to pat at his chest. "Why don't you go dry off. I'll be fine." 

She nods her head, clumsy, but then she's swaying away and Steve watches her go. 

“Better luck next time,” Billy says, and doesn’t mean a lick of it.

Steve's nose scrunches up when he turns back to look at him-- a bad sign-- but he's still got Billy's drink in his hand and he hasn't thrown it in his face-- a good sign. Steve's frowning; Billy grins. 

"Do you have, like, an off switch?" Steve asks. "Or are you  _ always  _ a dick?"

It's a familiar song and dance. Billy says or does something, Steve calls him a dick, an asshole, a complete knothead, and Billy gets a chance to  _ talk  _ to him. To bask in his scent, at least for a little while. 

And Max told him tugging on pigtails was a  _ bad move.  _

“I don’t  _ think _ I have an off switch, but you’re welcome to try and  _ find _ it…” Billy winks. 

Billy will stop, maybe, when this method stops working for him. Until then...well. 

Well, at least now he has Steve's  _ attention.  _

"Always a dick, then." Steve says, dry, but he sips at the drink Billy had so easily pressed into his hand and hums. 

Billy wants to  _ preen.  _ Wants to push drinks into Steve's hands all night if it gets him that little sound of approval. 

"Not gonna try and find it, then?" Billy asks, and when Steve rolls his eyes, he  _ presses.  _ "I'll even let you know when you're getting  _ warmer." _

Steve nearly chokes, squinting at him as he struggles to swallow.  _ "Why  _ are you talking to me?"

Billy frowns. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Um, because we've been ignoring each other since Halloween?" 

And Billy's  _ floored.  _ Because Steve is  _ wrong.  _ He hasn't been ignoring him, not even a little. He'd been bothering him in the school halls and on the basketball court while he could. He'd needled him in the locker room, trying to get a reaction. 

He'd even blown his whistle at him a few times at the pool, for  _ excess splashing,  _ just to show Steve he was still  _ watching.  _ Waiting for a sign. A sign that Steve recognized Billy for what he is the way Billy recognized Steve.

A  _ mate.  _

Steve just  _ hasn't.  _

It’s deeply frustrating.

“Weird. I haven’t been ignoring you. Kind of rude of you to be ignoring me, don’t you think?” Billy says, flashing a grin that’s all teeth.

Steve purses his lips and leans a shoulder against the wall, arms half crossed. A little defensive. Billy gets it, he  _ does.  _

It's just not  _ fair,  _ is all.

"Okay," Steve huffs. "Forgive me for ignoring the asshole that punched my face in. You have my undivided attention."

Billy winces. Okay,  _ maybe  _ it's fair. 

Maybe,  _ maybe _ he should apologize.

But also, like, that’s not really something that Billy Hargrove  _ does _ .

“You did put up a good fight,” Billy says. “Impressive.”

Steve scoffs, but he  _ does  _ straighten up a bit. Stops slumping into the wall. Lets the arms drop. Perking up like he's  _ proud  _ of the fight he gave Billy. 

Which is--  _ god,  _ it's everything. Steve Harrington is the perfect fucking omega. Won't back down from a fight. Won't submit to just any alpha. 

He's making Billy  _ earn it.  _ Billy feels almost  _ giddy. _

"I would've won if you hadn't bashed a plate over my head," Steve says. 

Billy  _ is  _ giddy. 

“Even I gotta admit, I would’ve loved to win that fight fair and square,” Billy says.

Like with his teeth against Steve’s throat. 

Steve's smile is bright. He jabs a finger at Billy's chest with his drink hand. 

"So you admit it," Steve says. "You  _ cheated."  _

“The plate wasn’t my finest work,” Billy says. “I’ll admit to a lack of finesse. The win would’ve tasted better if the footing was more even.”

Because  _ obviously _ Billy would’ve still  _ won _ . 

"You're so fucking full of yourself," Steve says, but he's laughing. 

Billy made him fucking  _ laugh.  _ He wants to catch it, bottle it, save it for later. He wants to eat this moment, whole.

“So I’ve been told,” Billy says. “It’s the truth, though.” He tastes the words out on his tongue before he lets them go, deciding they’re  _ worth it _ : “Sorry about the plate, pretty boy.”

And Steve is blinking at him, again. He always seems to be blinking at him. Like Billy is a constant surprise.

Then, his face softens some. He sips his drink, cocks his head, and Billy wants to press his face into the line of his throat and breathe deep. 

"And the rest of it?"

Billy shrugs, making a face. "I guess I'm sorry about that, too."

Steve grunts, like maybe he's a little annoyed, but his eyes are dark as they hunt over Billy's face. "Then, I guess I can forgive you. As long as you don't do it again." 

He can't believe Max was  _ right.  _

Billy grins bright, dragging a finger over his chest. "Cross my heart."

He's  _ never  _ going to tell her. 

***

The third time's the charm, or so Billy thinks. 

It's the 4th of July and Max ditched him for fair games and cotton candy, like, thirty minutes ago. He would've grilled her for it if she hadn't ditched him for Lucas and Dustin-- who had, unsurprisingly, been there with  _ Steve.  _

Which means  _ Billy  _ is with Steve. 

"Babysitting duty?" Billy asks, tongue between his teeth, hands in his back pockets to keep himself from reaching out and messing with the vest Steve's got on, collar up, blocking most of his scent. "Sucks, amigo."

"Like you're one to talk," Steve says, but he's not as instantly on the defensive the same way he'd been at the party, a night spent oscillating around one another having worn down some of Steve's more brittle edges. "Aren't you supposed to be watching Max?"

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Billy grunts, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s, any fucking excuse to get his body touching part of Steve’s. 

Steve scoffs. “Do you know how much shit they can get up to just when they’re out of eyesight? It’s  _ ridiculous.”  _

Billy thinks that maybe Steve is trying to sound exasperated, but really he just sounds like a concerned mother hen. It would be annoying if it weren’t so goddamn endearing. 

It makes Billy wanna wrap his arms around him. Makes him wanna pull Steve’s collar down and breathe deep. It’s  _ ridiculous.  _

“Why aren’t you following after them, then?” Billy asks. 

Steve shrugs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not  _ actually _ their babysitter. I’ll catch some bellyaching later, sure, but as long as they don’t upchuck in my car, it’ll be fine.” 

Billy blinks at him. “What are you gonna do instead?” 

“Well,” Steve eyes him. “It  _ seems _ like I’m hanging out with you.” 

Something in Billy lights up. Warms instantly. He doesn’t want to say he’s preening, but he probably is, and it’s so fucking  _ stupid _ \--

“Wanna get some funnel cake?” Steve asks. 

“My treat,” Billy says, quick.

And then he’s got his hand on Steve’s back, guiding him over to the food stands, a dopey grin crooked on his face. Because Steve  _ lets  _ him lead him. Lets him press close in the line. Lets him buy him something warm and sweet and just right for an omega with a sweet tooth. 

He even lets Billy share it with him. Picking off strawberries covered in powdered sugar and whipped cream, warmed from the deep fried dough. Laughs when Billy gets some sugar on his chin. Wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Let’s get on the ferris wheel,” Billy says, because he doesn’t want this to end, because he thinks Steve  _ knows _ now-- judging by the way he’s looking at him, by the way he lets Billy stand so close, by the way he lets Billy shove a piece of cake into his mouth under the guise of  _ shutting you up, Harrington, jesus,  _ when really it’s just an excuse to  _ feed his omega.  _

“Seriously?” Steve asks, squinting up at it, all the lights and shiny things almost blinding in the night. 

Billy shrugs a shoulder, like it doesn’t mean the world to him that Steve’s standing there right now, contemplating getting on the ferris wheel with him. “Why not? Could be fun, sitting way up high, judging everyone else.” 

“Is that what you do with your free time?” 

Billy barks out a laugh. “Pretty much.” 

Steve gives the wheel one last long look before sighing. Relenting.  _ Yielding.  _

“Yeah, sure, why not?” 

It’s stupid. Sitting next to Steve on a dinky old ferris wheel, going around and around for the hefty price of two tickets a piece, but Billy is  _ flying.  _ His thigh is pressed snug against Steve Harrington’s, his arm draped over the back of their seat, practically curled around Steve goddamn Harrington’s shoulders. 

It’s the closest he’s ever been to his omega like this. He can breathe him in easy-- can smell the spice of his cologna, the tang of strawberry on his breath, the sugar still clinging to his fingers-- and underneath all of that, the bittersweet bite of pine and clove that always seems to cling to Steve’s skin.

It’s stupid and it’s perfect and he doesn’t want this night to end. He doesn’t want to go back to living in a world where he only gets moments of Steve’s time and attention. He doesn’t want to walk away without making sure Steve  _ knows.  _

So, at the top of the wheel, at the peak of the turn, Billy twists and leans in before he can think twice. 

Steve startles. Jumps when Billy curves his hand along his jaw and at his nape, caging him in as much as he can, drawing him as close as he can manage. Gets his mouth on Steve’s smile-- just once-- at least this once-- 

Steve groans against his mouth and tilts his head. Parts his lips. Goes so perfectly  _ pliant _ under Billy’s hands. Practically wilts, like a blossom in a California June. 

The  _ taste  _ of him. God, the way his tongue curls against Billy’s. The way his fingers slide up into Billy’s hair, catching at the messy half bun holding the curls out of his face. The way he presses in-- so goddamn  _ warm.  _

And then he’s pulling back, laughing as their cart jerks into motion, bringing them down from the top of the wheel. Pulling them away from the stars and back to earth. 

“I thought Robin was full of shit," Steve laughs. 

Billy frowns. "What?" 

"When she told me you wanted me," Steve says, and his eyes are bright, catching the sudden  _ pop  _ of the fireworks from above in their depths, and Billy's lips burn for the want of him. "When she told me you were peacocking. Trying to court me like I was an omega."

Billy flinches. His nose wrinkles up and something knots in his stomach. 

"But you  _ are,"  _ he says. 

Steve's brows pinch. Billy can read the confusion, plain as day, and then the way Steve's face goes  _ soft.  _

"No, Billy," Steve says. "I'm not."

Billy doesn't know whether to bare his teeth and demand Steve stop  _ lying  _ or to bury his face at his throat and check for himself. 

He's so torn, so desperately in denial, that they're already being ushered off of the ride by the time he's gotten himself together enough to take Steve by the wrist, drag him away from the crowds, and say:

"But you're  _ my  _ omega."

Steve falters, shaking his head, teeth catching on his lower lip and despite it all, Billy wants to kiss him again. 

"No." Steve says. "Billy, I'm an alpha. Always have been. I'm-- I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

And Billy-- Billy doesn't know what to  _ do  _ with that. 

So he does the only thing he can. He runs. 

***

It's the middle of July when Max basically knocks down his bedroom door. Her mom is at work and so is his dad, and it's the only reason he doesn't lose his shit when she plants her hands on her hips and says:

"What's so bad about Steve being an alpha?"

Billy cringes, stamping out his cigarette in the ashtray by his window, temples pounding. "You don't know what you're talking about, Maxine."

Max throws her hands out. "Lucas is a beta and you don't see me throwing a hissy fit about it."

"It's not the  _ same,  _ Max--"

"It  _ is,"  _ she hisses. "You like him! So what's the big?"

Billy's jaw works as he stares her down. She doesn't give, not even an inch, and Billy's shoulders  _ droop. _

"I thought--" he breathes out sharp. "I thought he was  _ mine.  _ He smelled like he was-- like he was  _ mine,  _ Max."

Max's pinched features slacken a little. She pads forward, on tentative feet, and places a careful hand on his shoulder. 

She's so young, Billy thinks. And yet she's always been so much more at home in her own skin. 

Billy might've shrugged her off, snapped at her, six months ago. He doesn't, now. 

"He still could be," Max says, squeezing at his shoulder. 

He doesn't reply and she doesn't say anything else. 

***

He doesn't see Steve at the pool again for at least another week. When he shows up, kids on his heels like wayward pups, Billy watches him avoid Billy's eyes. 

Watches him most of the afternoon, from his perch. Takes in the way he dotes on his little pack. The breadth of his shoulders. The way he smiles and holds his stomach when he laughs. 

And Billy remembers practically tasting that laugh. His mouth waters.

When Heather finally comes around to give him his break, Billy makes a beeline for where Steve is laying out in the sun. Watching the kids play chicken in the shallow end. 

"Hey," he says, and nearly bolts when Steve sits up sharp to meet his gaze. "You're turning pink."

Steve frowns. "Am I?"

"Yeah," Billy clears his throat, and then holds out a bottle of sunscreen. 

They both know what it is. Another small courting gift. Another offering, at Steve's alter, of Billy trying to prove he can take care of his omega. 

Even if Steve  _ isn't.  _

Behind the rim of his sunglasses, dark eyes barely peeking out, Steve lifts a brow. "What, you're not gonna offer to get my back?"

"Do you want me to?"

Steve pulls his sunglasses off, bares his face to him, no shields between them. He wets his lips and leans forward. 

"Well," Steve hesitates, cheeks pink, and  _ god  _ Billy wants to feel the heat of them. "You're my alpha, aren't you?"

Billy feels something in his gut pull tight. 

"Yeah," he says on a breath. "And you're mine."

Steve beams.

***

Billy can't believe Max was  _ right.  _

He's  _ never  _ gonna tell her.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> Both Steve and Billy are alphas-- but Billy's a dumb sweetheart and thinks that, because he wants Steve so bad, Steve MUST be an omega. He's wrong. But it doesn't really matter.


End file.
